


Birds of a Feather Twist Together

by Imageman



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Bird! Eduardo, Bird! Mark, M/M, loads of metaphor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 15:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5876458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imageman/pseuds/Imageman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He heard the sound of wings flapping, just like Eduardo staring at him with his black eyes as usual. Mark walked straight into the snow, he opened his wings when reaching the edge.</p><p>This time he did not look back either.</p><p>(Also available in Chinese)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birds of a Feather Twist Together

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of comparing them to birds crushed me when reviewing the scene where Eduardo and Mark ran up the same stairway in Kirkland, Eduardo looked like an eagle separating its wings, and Mark looked like, well, probably a sparrow, sprinting upwards
> 
> No beta and it's not my mother language, apologise for all possible mistakes  
> Enjoy!:)  
> (Chinese version : http://leftundone.lofter.com/post/20e6c4_9c0229f )

Click [here](http://leftundone.lofter.com/post/20e6c4_9c0229f) to see Chinese version

 

There had been a few times where Mark Zuckerberg couldn’t control his own decisions. Throwing back the question ‘which part’ during the council meeting, pointing out the lies of the lawyer of the Winklevoss’s, walking towards Erica Albright in the bar, or remain mute after Eduardo Saverin crushed his computer into pieces.

 

OR being stuck at the highway of New Jersey in January, without computers, internet, and signals. Mark held his phone loosely between his two fingers, a bird twittered while hoping out from the bushes. He looked up and see the lights at the corner of the roof, showing all the delicate movements of snow flakes.

 

It is the third floor of the only available Inn, every floor containing of hundreds of empty rooms and long corridors without ends. He booked a double, but stayed alone. There’s a door attached to the room right beside him.

 

The bird struggled in the snow, Mark believed he heard fragile but sorrow warbles. The heater was placed in front of the window, warm wind kept him comfortable from below. He stared at the bird, thinking of Eduardo Saverin being only a few inches away from him. Curiously the question why did they accidentally booked rooms next door to each other did not occur to him first, but only Eduardo’s suits and tidiness. Eduardo wouldn’t be trapped in the snow, he had his well-ironed suits and a pair of long legs. 

 

At first Mark had no idea who was staying next door. He check in at noon, hadn’t leave the room since then until the signal completely broke down at around four. He didn’t figure it out intentionally, but he heard whoever on the other side of the wall ordering room service. That guy was using the phone right attached to the wall, and Mark Zuckerberg was checking Facebook on his bed, lying right against the same wall.

 

This is an Inn with only three floors and incredibly long corridors, there’s no reason they should be responsible for sound insulation, thus, Mark naturally heard the soft Portuguese accent, which sounded perfectly familiar to him. After twenty minutes someone knocked on his door asking whether Mr. Saverin was in, and he immediately understood why the voice was familiar.

 

“You got the wrong door.” He told the waiter plainly, tilted his head to a side, not quite sure whether he had understood his gesture.

 

It was a man from probably somewhere East Asia, he responded with a even more confusing accent of English and went away. He wished him to have a good night.

 

Mark returned to his bed, maintaining his delicate balance, not allowing him to be too far or too close to the wall. As if Eduardo Saverin would then noticed his existence, and that he was hiding away from him.

 

Mark Zuckerberg never hide from anyone or anything, even winter.

 

He set on the edge of his bed, facing right to the window. He didn’t turn the lights on  so the reflection of the snow came directly towards the window. He watched the bird struggle and failed.

 

Its wings were held open.

 

It reminds him of Eduardo, strange he always felt weirdly connected to the bird. It’s not strange to think of Eduardo, especially when he is only a few inches away from him, although he had no idea of Mark’s appearance, and Mark wouldn’t think of letting him to.

 

Eduardo Saverin couldn’t survive winter, his feathers were too bright to be twisted by the bushes, cold would conquer him and make him surrender. All the birds that froze to death are always beautiful, feathers posh and smooth, only the downs are able to protect them.

Mark Zuckerberg’s feathers are always twisted, leaving huge gaps between them to provide heat. He assume he maybe even haven’t got feathers but only downs, and they all point towards the outside world like swords. 

He never meant to do that, he only wants to be fluffy.

 

Eduardo will spread his wings, he always will. When he dashed from Elliot to Kirkland as if some kinds of eagles separating his arms to hold still, his legs are long, like birds walking in the snow gracefully. He had the keycard to Kirkland, and when he passed the common room to their dorm he would always hold still by the doorways.

“Hey, Mark.” And he would spoke, always with a  sense of concern, like he has no idea that he is actually the kind of bird that wasn’t going to last through the winter, and fluffy birds like Mark never dies.

 

He folded up his wings for Mark, lingering on the frame of the door towards the direction of him. Mark always refuses to open his wings, sometimes he doubts if he still have feathers.

 

It isn’t strange to not have feathers, Dustin is covered with downs. But it is weird for Mark to not have feathers, perhaps it’s his downs that have outgrown his out-sight.

Plus, he knew when he is showing his brown downs Eduardo will always held him under his wing.

 

So he guess there’s not much of a difference between them.

 

When others describe Mark as some sorts of Artificial Intelligence when he is being arrogant and cruel and smart while standing in the position of fencing, they often forget that Eduardo is the one to fill him with the emotions he lack. 

Eduardo would worry for him, not only worry for him, but being happier before Mark is happy, being sadder before Mark even came close to realise that he should be sad. And this is Eduardo, always being more aware of others. Brown downs have been growing under his wings, Mark almost thought that was a part of him.

 

He hate Eduardo when he is wearing a tie. That is not a decoration because no birds wear decorations around their necks. It’s only a bound, leading the Eduardo he was familiar with away from him. That Eduardo will need a human being to stroke him by his back, which Mark have never learnt to achieve by his wings. He stared at him in a concerned way that no birds should possibly be able to posses, cautious and careful, as if Mark was a precious un-hatched egg.

 

That’s when Mark felt he should grow his tail feathers.

 

Wardo has tail feathers, of course, they’re almost as long as legs and much longer than his beak. They’re mainly black, a bit of dark blue dotted inside, feeling as good as a bunch of feathers should fell like. Sometimes Wardo’s tail will brush through Mark’s downs when he was cheerfully hoping between branches, which caused Mark to shiver beneath his own downs, asking every ant on the tip of the furs to climb back to his core. He could always see Wardo waiting, on the branches, near the leaves, with his white furs on his belly exposed to the snow. When he was waiting for Mark the snow took their liberty to cover Wardo in white, leaving only his eyes black and dark, focused on Mark.

 

Eduardo have the claws of a predator, but he was always innocent when he was with Mark, as if he wasn’t aware of the flesh and blood remaining on his claws and beak, although the snow would make him pure again. Mark could easily tear away his downs under that kind of sight. He didn’t mind blood strain from his skin to the snow, because Ward never noticed them. Wardo will only cover him with his wings.

 

And Mark desperately loves that.

 

The only time he saw Eduardo fly, he flew between the third and fourth branches they lived at. That was a short show and his tails maintained his balance in a beautiful way, Mark almost forgot he was only a ball of furs that even wasn’t able to stretch his own wings.

 

He remember how Eduardo twitters to the sky as he soar, how he shared his glee across the air to little Mark on the ground. Mark struggled in the snow, he tried his best to make Eduardo laugh, because ravens fell into a fox’s trick when they laugh. Somehow Eduardo didn’t laugh,he smiled and deliberately fell for the sparrow. So Mark calmed down and hid under Eduardo’s wings to watch more snow coming from high above. He cooed.

 

For a time as long as centuries Mark merely stared at the bird in the snow. He didn’t know its species, perhaps Eduardo would. But he certainly wouldn’t walk straight to his room and knock on his door and let their first conversation start with a beginning as silly as “Do you know what kind of bird is over there?”

 

Mark walked to the desk and picked up the pen and pad offered by the inn. _Head Up._ He scribbled, folded the paper into a triangle.

 

Mark sat on the floor, carefully pushed the triangle through the gap between the door.

 

_You have completely no idea that there’s a bird right outside your window._

 

_He’s dying, Wardo_

 

_You know what he is_

 

_You know who I am_

 

_Wardo?_

 

He pushed through the last piece and rested his head to the wall. He didn’t bother to hear what was happening on the other side, because there’ s nothing there. He just lingered to the wall in deepest exhaustion, right next to the door knob, as if after so many years Mark Zuckerberg had finally realised he is tired.

 

Not after coding for thirty-six hours without a rest, not after having the epic fight with Eduardo Saverin, not after Sean got caught by the cops for dealing with drugs and underaged interns.

 

He realised his is tired because of a bird.

 

When Mark returned to the window the bird was already gone. At first he though it was dead or buried by the snow, then he found a  trail of scars of wounds strung together like beads heading to somewhere far away.

 

Mark gazed through the window, just like the day when he found Eduardo roaming in the sky lonely and lost. He waved to him, so the big black bird flew excitedly towards him, and he merely stood behind the glass wall, smiling.

 

Eduardo Saverin didn’t break his neck, he saw the reflection of himself as soon as he come close enough. But he did broke his wings, even he is one of the smartest birds Mark ever encountered. Eduardo’s dark eyes focused on him as usual, letting Mark who has gave up all his downs nearly forget about the flesh and blood on his claws.

 

Eduardo made a quick sound on the other side of the window, too quick that Mark was only able to trace its tail. The big bird fell to the ground and struggled to stand up. His long legs got tangled up in the snow. He finally found a way to leave, separating his wings wide to remain balance, while leaving a distinct trace in the snow. 

 

Eduardo kept turning his head when he was moving, but never did he say a word. He gazed at Mark with his huge black eyes.

 

And all Mark did was standing there, waiting for his own feathers to grow.

 

Eduardo took off at the edge of the snow, without any warning or preparation. He flapped his injured wings towards the grey lining of the sky, and Mark kept his eyes on him, as if Eduardo would still look back.

 

His finger tip touched the window, fog gathered around his touch. Mark walked back to his bed and never bothered to look for the bird again throughout the night. The notes he sent to the room nearby was as quite as a beak without feathers. He lied on his bed, thinking of the black bird right next to him, and a nest made of yellow pads.

 

There’s only inches between them, and Eduardo knew he was here.

 

Mark fell asleep holding on to the thought.

 

—

 

He woke up at dawn because of Chris’s call, clearly the signal has covered. Chris is sending someone to pick him up, and Mark checked out before two o’clock in the afternoon.

 

The door next to his has always been closed, he heard no more sound, and no more sign of human activities.

 

He knew he needn’t do that, but he still asked the front desk.

 

“Do you know where did the guy live in the room next to mine come from?” He asked casually, just like any businessmen on a trip.

 

The guy at the desk checked the computer, and frowned.

 

“Mr. Zuckerberg,” He said. “No one had checked in to that room last night.”

 

For that very moment Mark thought he understood something. He stepped back and gazed cautiously at the bronze metal below the desk, seeing a twisted black figure of himself.

 

“I see, thank you.” He nodded, walked out with both hands stuck in his pockets. He hatched, as if all the feathers in his spines are about to break out.

 

He heard the sound of wings flapping, just like Eduardo staring at him with his black eyes as usual. Mark walked straight into the snow, he opened his wings when reaching the edge.

 

This time he did not look back either.

 

fin

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick explanation of all the metaphors (in case it's confusing):  
> Downs=1) natural instinct, e.g. Mark's talents  
> 2) natural status of not knowing how to survive in a society, in Mark's case, it should be how to get along with Eduardo  
> Feathers=1) learned talents, e.g. Eduardo's talent in business and maths  
> 2) talents in socialising and of course take care of Mark  
> Wings= symbol of their relationship  
> Blood and Flesh on the Beak= crucial in business area


End file.
